CHAPTER SIX
WHITE-KITTEN
When the wind brought word of human beings on the field-path, the kittens always stopped their play.
Grey Puss had warned them in their earliest days to beware of people, and as a rule her angry growling called them down into the hole. Now, however, when she spent less and less of her time at home, and the kittens were left to themselves, their behaviour varied according to their natures.
Big Puss and Tiny still ran for the hole; Black thrilled—he sank down on his loins and dragged himself along the ground, keeping a sharp lookout and disappearing periodically with a spitting noise. Grey and Red as a rule remained placidly lying still; but White stiffened her tail with delight and trotted to and fro, mewing and purring.
She was a merry and friendly little kitten, who made a joke of everything. Her strong desire for amusement and her inability to appreciate the stern realities of life expressed themselves at a very early stage of her existence. Just as she regularly seized the opportunity of chasing her mother’s tail, so did she often make a plaything of the old cat’s nipples, a sacrilege which more than once lost her her due share of milk.
She was not specially big or strong in appearance, but doubtless her grace and good humour would carry her far in the world.
She spent most of her time making her toilet. She could not bear the smallest piece of fluff on her coat without at once licking it off. If so much as a single hair of hers smelled slightly, she felt upset until she had succeeded in removing the cause of her indisposition. During her idle hours—and they were many—she would sit a little apart from the others, spit on her paw, with which she would wash her breast and stomach, freshen up her eyes, smooth the fur on her face, and make a parting right across the middle of her forehead.
In her charming little cat-face, with its soft, affectionate expression, were set two glistening, watery-blue eyes, which slanted as prettily as those of a clean and well-groomed little Geisha girl.
In company with Tiny she still took suck from her mother, and there was as yet no sign of this form of nourishment being abandoned. Being so much together with her little brother, she did her best to chum up with him. But the latter, who was cleverer than he looked, realized too well the disadvantage of such an entanglement, and rejected her advances point-blank; she should rather do as he did, find a big brother with whom to join forces.
TINY
Tiny was, neither in appearance nor reality, a Hercules, being thin and stunted, with a large head and big, intelligent eyes.
For the most part he lay still and slept. He had an attitude of his own which he preferred when resting: doubled up, with his hind legs well under his body, and his absurdly big head between his paws. It seemed almost as if he were trying to shut his ears against the ceaseless hurly-burly around him.
He gave rather the impression of being slow-witted and sedate; but in reality he was not such a fool as he appeared.
For example, he possessed one unique characteristic: he was an infallible weather-prophet!
His talent in this direction, however, would have remained quite useless had he kept his prophecies to himself; but, on the contrary, the moment a change of weather was impending, he could not resist giving vent to his feelings. The others then knew at once what to expect.
For example, supposing he felt rainy weather approaching, he would walk about shaking himself, dragging his tail, and mewing continuously. Then he would seek out a good hiding-place where he could lie in warmth and shelter when the rain came.
But when fine weather was to be expected, he would appear with tail at the perpendicular, purring and humming with satisfaction.
In reality he was not only a professor of weather, he was more: he was a regular little meteorological observatory! Possibly the terrible treatment once meted out to him in his earlier days by his brutal father accounted for his weak, supersensitive nerves.
Brother Black—the fighter—whose frequent mad expeditions he followed at a distance in order to be at hand at the right time to beg his livelihood, soon learned to utilize his small brother’s eccentricity.
Black preferred hunting at nightfall; but if, during the day, when crouching at his gate-post stropping his claws, he observed Tiny walking about miauling and crying, he knew at once he must get away as early as possible: it would rain that night.
Black could never resist Tiny’s cadging. His admiring looks and respectful mien were too much for the fierce warrior.
In addition, the little fellow suffered seriously from vomiting. The excess of feathers and the insufficiency of meat comprising his diet soon ruined his digestion; he had to go out and chew harsh, bitter cock’s-foot grass the moment he awoke.
In spite of this, he was the sole humorist of the family—thanks to his unusually long tail, the vigour of which was so extraordinary that it gave the impression of being a separate personality. He would wipe his paws on it, or twist it right round his neck; it was a constant source of amusement; he could even play “postman’s knock” with it.
But on the whole, his abilities and characteristics were much below the average, and he might safely be expected to turn out a failure.
When, by chance or design, he did go out on his own, he succeeded occasionally in making a catch of some sort by means of his abnormally acute powers of observation.
Thus, one day he saw a yellow-hammer settle in a tuft of withered grass; he hurried to the spot—and gulped down a most delicious omelet!
Another day he met a bunting fighting with a lark. By tacit understanding the hedge belonged to the bunting just as the field belonged to the lark, and neither permitted the other to trespass in his sphere of action—so they fought, and whirled round and round, until they both lay dead-beat in the grass.
Such a battle Tiny was a master-hand at turning to his own advantage.
He began to consider it worth while to slip out and look round. There was always something or other to be caught!
RED-KITTEN
Whatever doubt there may have been as to Tiny’s being a sly puss, it was quite certain that Red-kitten was a deceitful hussy!
Her coat alone stamped her as a mountebank, being fox-red in colour, with bright yellow stripes which turned to rings round her legs and tail.
Her body also was unique, being long, thin, and supple, and gave as she walked, like a freshly stuffed sofa.
She had a mania for stretching herself, as if she could not get her body slim and supple enough. None could compare with her in activity; she was incessantly playing tricks on the others—and when they attacked her she could easily wriggle out of their clutches, even Black and Big being unable to hold her.
A gymnast, a juggler, was Red!
In addition to her bodily virtues she had tall, slim legs, which, when necessary, enabled her to escape from the swiftest opponent by sheer speed.
She was still quite young when Box one day surprised her in the middle of the field; but, thanks to her speed, she saved herself at the last moment by scrambling up on a straw thatch, her mouth extended and the water running down her red tongue. Had there been a man on the scene he would have said that it was the first time he had seen a cat sweat!
Her cunning, flame-coloured eyes are seldom really open; she usually goes about with them screwed up, as if desiring to conceal their lowering, deceitful glance.
She is always to be seen sneaking round stones and molehills, and likes jumping out suddenly and unexpectedly. When the others play puss-in-the-corner, she prefers to lie in ambush and spring upon the nearest from behind, knock him down, and maul him about.
She beats all the others in cunning, and they do not like her to be near when they are eating; they know from experience her extraordinary skill in stealing.
On the day Mother Grey Puss brought home the herrings, each kitten was apportioned a lump of the delicious food. Big, who had received the head, sat a little apart from the others, nibbling it thoughtfully.
There was still a piece of the jaw left; it lay just in front of him, as with closed eyes he swallowed blissfully a tasty mouthful. When he opened his eyes again the herring jaw was no longer there—and a red tail-tip vanished silently behind the nearest boulder.
Nature, as a rule, equips each of her creatures generously with at least one special talent; and, provided only it uses that talent, the struggle for life is an easy one.
And Red’s talent was—thieving!
One can never take her by surprise: she possesses extraordinary decision of character, coupled with extreme cautiousness; and she never resorts to force until her prey is at her mercy. Her daily struggle for food and her constant intercourse with her talented brothers, whose highly specialized skill in trapping was so much superior to her own, have developed her inbred tendency to steal, whenever her special characteristics make it possible.
She is an expert at starting a quarrel when the others sit devouring their spoil; and while they fight, she fishes in troubled waters. She hunts indeed, but after her own fashion; and most of her spoil is second-hand!
Her sympathies are unstable; she lacks personality! Sometimes she helps Black against Big, at others Grey against Black; being always on the side of the one who owns nothing against the one who has for the moment something to steal.... She is in favour of common ownership, and is the red communist of the litter!
But she is an adept at dissembling; she is not only a great juggler, but also a great hypocrite ... her tail betrays this, for in the most exciting moments it is as stiff as a poker!
In the long run, however, the narrow bounds of catborough do not offer sufficient scope for her predatory instincts, and she is compelled to eke out her spoils. When Big, Black, and Grey, with White and Tiny in tow, slink out in the gloaming over field and meadow and follow the twisting, irregular paths of the village copse, Red lounges through the field until she meets a human track.
Experience has taught her that such a track usually leads to a place where there is something to be picked up ... some cast-away food-paper or other, which, on investigation, often proves to contain tasty morsels, such as herring-bones, cheese-rind, or scraps of fat.
Sometimes, also, an old wooden clog or a pair of cast-off stockings lie on the ground near by, but they appeal to her less, and serve only to increase her faith in human footsteps.
But it happens, too, that the tracks lead to dainties such as would make even gourmands like Big and Black turn blue in the face with envy!
The errand boys of the neighbourhood are very keen on wandering round the hedges for birds’ nests—not to destroy them, but merely to feel the thrill of peeping at the eggs. Red, aided by her cunning and her deductive faculties, finds every single one of these nests!
On one occasion she raided a lark’s nest. All night long she had followed a human “spoor,” which led over grass and clover and turnips. At a certain place the track stopped and turned off abruptly towards a clump of white marguerites.
Three nights in succession she came across the same lonely track, and found it stop on each occasion exactly at this place. And yet there was nothing there; that was peculiar!
She examined the immediate surroundings even more thoroughly, poked her nose in the steaming scent-waves—where human foot stood long in one place, the scent was warm; she knew that well enough!
At this a bird sprang up. She thrust her teeth into the nest and lapped down the nearly full-grown young greedily....
She had been right after all; food always flowed where human footsteps trod!
THE GREAT EATING-HOUSE
During the long, still evenings sounds could always be heard far away in the huge “stone-heap” where most of the tracks found by Red sooner or later ended. Often she approached courageously quite close and sat outside listening. Perpetual noise and disturbance reigned within; shrill whines, deep bellows, crowings, and cacklings penetrated its walls. A strong animal smell, as if the stone-heap were wrapped in an enormous food-paper, permeated the surrounding atmosphere.
One evening, as she sat hidden in the corn, she saw a man, with clogs clattering and forepaws covered with fur, come out and walk past.
The stableman had Box with him....
The dog scented cat, and caught a glimpse of red fur—and now Red had to gallop for her life through the corn.
Long-legged Box had almost overtaken her when she ran up into the top of a small willow tree, where, by exerting all her strength, she managed to hang fast, swaying to and fro. Box executed a wild war-dance round the trunk, leaping up as high as he could; when he grew tired of that, he turned his back to the tree and howled towards the farm for help....
Suddenly he hears a noise behind him. He whirls round, but can see nothing on account of the thick corn. He throws a glance up at the willow-top. It is empty!
At last he realizes what has happened. The red scamp has outdone him; with nose to the scent he rushes after....
The spoor leads into a ditch—and Box follows!
Now through a culvert under a road—and Box rushes at full speed into the culvert! It is lined with stones, and narrow—too narrow for the dog’s well-nourished body; he sticks fast, and can move neither forward nor back.
He has not even room left to bark; his ribs are gripped as in a vice; it is all he can do to manage a feeble, frightened whine.
All that evening he remains a prisoner in his stone cell; during the night the water rises and covers his paws—until at last, late next afternoon, his body has become so emaciated that he succeeds in squeezing backwards out of the trap.
Delighted, he runs home at once to the farm, where, however, he is subjected to the additional humiliation of being well scolded for his absence. How had his lordship enjoyed himself all that time? He had perhaps been making love in the next parish? Or had he been camping out with the fisherman’s yellow mongrel? Yes, he was a Don Juan, that’s what he was; a thoroughly wicked fellow!...
“Be careful!” he was threatened vaguely. His place was in the farmyard at night to keep guard!
Next day he was chained up.
One would think that Red would have been so frightened by this narrow escape that she would have avoided the farm and its surroundings for the future; but it was far from being the case—that sort of mishap had no effect on her at all.
In fact, with her system of going to work, such things were sure to happen; no need, therefore, to take them too seriously!
A few evenings later she is sitting again at the edge of the cornfield, and as nobody comes out and no dog chases her away, it is obvious that she is meant to gain admittance!
She creeps along the garden fence and sneaks calmly past the stall to the manure-heap, where she spends the whole night in undisturbed peace ransacking “the big food bag.”
She came back night after night; and became more and more daring....
One morning early, the housewife coming suddenly into the larder, discovered a strange cat sitting on one of the shelves, eating. She grabbed the broom and lunged out after the brute, but in her excitement aimed so badly that she transformed a large bowl of cream into a cataract!
Now the farmer’s wife became really angry! If that red devil stole cream, she’d soon begin taking puddings and meat....
She hit about her wildly and futilely.... While Red escaped by the grating through which she had come.
“Was it a cat?”
The good woman became suddenly doubtful when she had cooled down. Nobody round about owned such a cat, as far as she knew....
Was it not rather a young fox she had seen?...